It's My Party
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: It was Casey's birthday.


Title: It's My Party (And I'll Cry if I Want To)

Disclaimer: Chaos is not mine.

A/N: I wrote this off the line in my fic "Bar Fights and Missions" about the cake cutting incident gone awry. This is set pre series, so sadly there is no Rick. Beta was provided by the fantastic **sockie1000 **who may not have seen the show but still knows enough to love these guys :) But Chaos needs to come out on DVD so I can make her buy it and watch it for real! Oh and I may have made Casey a bit of a woobie but the OOC-ness fit the crackish slant of the fic so I hope it can be hand waved a bit!

Summary: It was Casey's birthday.

-o-

It was Casey's birthday.

Normally, he worked hard to suppress such knowledge. At least, until Billy had joined the ODS and all semblance of personal space and privacy was completely thrown out the window.

In the past, he would look upon the day with vague annoyance, an unpleasant reminder of his body's natural limitations.

Now, he just dreaded it. Because Billy always planned something stupid. Big parties and decorations and food. He made sure everyone knew and made it an affair worthy of scowling about.

In short, Casey hated it.

When he walked into the office, Billy and Michael were already there. Michael barely looked up and Billy rocked back in his chair. "Morning," he said congenially.

Casey hesitated. "That's it?"

Billy looked up, eyebrows raised. "You were expecting something else?"

Casey's eyes narrowed. "Don't play coy with me, Collins," he said. "You've got something planned."

Billy shrugged. "If by something, you mean a large gathering in the break room with cake and punch and possibly even the discussion of fond childhood memories, then I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know I hate parties," Casey said.

Billy grinned. "Then by all means, don't show up," he said, waggling an eyebrow. "More for me."

-o-

Casey didn't want to go, but Billy had this way about him. He didn't have to say anything. He just had to smile; just had to _look _at Casey, and Casey knew he had no choice. The anticipation of suffering the entire day with Billy's nonchalance was more than he wanted to endure.

"Fine," he relented at their morning briefing. "I'll go."

"If you'd rather, Michael and I can bring you back something," Billy offered.

"Speak for yourself," Michael said, putting his glasses on his desk. "You ordered a cake from that bakery near Georgetown. Double chocolate. No piece I take will make it back."

"Ah, well," Billy said. "Maybe I can bribe one of the mail room staff."

Casey groaned. "I told you, I'll go," he said.

Billy's grin widened and his eyes twinkled. He lifted a finger, pointing at Casey. "I'm beginning to suspect you may actually like parties after all," he said.

Casey regarded him coolly, brushing past his desk on his way to the door. "I just prefer not prolonging the inevitable," he said, pausing at the door. He turned back. "After six years, you've proven yourself too stupid to stop throwing parties. So instead of enduring what I'm sure you consider to be well meaning birthday cheer all day, I'll show up, eat my cake and be done with this by lunch."

Billy nodded resolutely. "Spoken like a true party pooper."

"I'm going, aren't I?"

Billy grinned grandly. "And I could not ask for more."

-o-

It was everything Casey thought it might be. And worse.

Everyone was there, including the entire IT department and the girl from the coffee stand who knew how Casey liked his coffee. Billy had somehow convinced the nearby Thai place to cater (and how he managed to get them past security would remain a birthday mystery to Casey) and the conversation was interminably friendly.

And the cake was typically grandiose, with whipped chocolate frosting and _Happy Birthday, Casey _scrawled on top in cursive. There were two toy ninja on either side that were absolutely not cute (and absolutely did not end up in Casey's pocket to take home).

Billy lit the candles – just three, "One for yesterday, one for today, and one for all the years to come," Billy explained – and Casey blew them out while everyone clapped.

"Did you make a wish?" Billy asked.

"I don't believe in pointless superstition," Casey said. "Besides, if I told you, it wouldn't come true."

"Ah," Billy said. "And believing in wishes would be like actually enjoying a birthday party."

Casey nodded smugly. "Exactly."

-o-

Things took a turn for the better when the conversation segued to the best ways to render someone unconscious. Casey was discussing the finer points of a triangle chokehold when Blanke suggested, in typical Blanke fashion, using a knife.

"You want to knock them out, not kill them," Casey reminded him with all due disgust.

"Oh, I know," Blanke said, far too seriously. "I was talking about throwing the knife and hitting them with the handle."

"No, that's not humanly possible," Casey replied.

"But it is!" Blanke insisted.

"No, it's not," Casey returned. "And I would know because I have tested all limits of human capacity and what you're suggesting is beyond that." He looked Blanke over disapprovingly. "Especially for you."

Blanke shook his head, brow furrowed. "But I've done it."

Casey balked. He picked up the knife from beside the cake, pointing it toward the wall. "Twenty bucks says you can't even hit the door. With _either _side."

"Thirty," Blanke said, bucking himself up indignantly.

"Am I the only one who thinks that knife throwing may not be an acceptable party game?" Billy interjected.

Casey turned, glaring at him. "It's just like pin the tail on the donkey," he snapped. "Only interesting."

Billy rolled his eyes, vaguely bemused. "Do not let it be said that I did not attempt to be the voice of reason."

"It's my party," Casey said tersely. "You made me endure cake—"

"—delicious cake," Billy reminded him.

"Singing—" Casey continued.

"—with lovely harmonization," Billy said.

"And undue amounts of socialization with the lemmings," Casey said. "So if you don't mind, I'd like this one activity for myself."

Billy held up his hands. "Anything for the birthday boy," he conceded.

"Your condescension is aggravating," Casey griped. "But your acquiescence is accepted." He turned back to Blanke, holding out the knife. "Let's make it an even fifty. I'm feeling festive all of a sudden."

-o-

It didn't take long to clear the area for the challenge. Billy happily cleaned the knife of the excess frosting and Michael cleared a path to the door, positioning someone outside to ensure that no one walked in. The crowd parted, tittering in anticipation as the chairs were moved and Blanke stepped into place.

"One throw," Casey said, handing Blanke the knife. "And then I'll be fifty dollars richer."

"Unless I hit it," Blanke said, chest puffed up.

"Right," Casey said. "Like I said. Fifty dollars richer."

-o-

Blanke made a show of it. He stood carefully and closed one eye to get a fix on his target. He held the knife up, first by the hilt, then the blade, testing it.

"Why do we need such a sharp knife for cake?" he asked.

"No butter knife would be acceptable for the likes of Casey Malick's birthday," Billy rejoined.

"And this was all we could find," Michael added with a shrug."

"It is rather unwieldy," Blanke said, distracted now.

"Oh, come on," Casey interjected roughly. "Throw it!"

And Blanke did.

-o-

It hit the door high, hilt resounding loudly. The force was enough to send it ricocheting. Someone yelped. A few people clattered out of the way. Then the knife came to a stop.

Right in Billy's leg.

-o-

For a second, no one moved. No one breathed.

Blanke was gaping. "Oh," he said, horror starting to dawn. "Oh."

Billy stood there awkwardly, eyes turned down. The knife was lodged in his thigh. From a distance, Casey couldn't tell how deep or exactly where.

Looking up again, Billy blinked a few times, face paling. "I don't think I look like a donkey, do I?"

-o-

Casey moved.

Billy wavered on his feet, but Casey steadied him. Michael came up on the other side and together, they lowered Billy to the floor. The Scot's body was tense, but he didn't resist, not even as Casey leaned over his leg to see the damage.

Distantly, Blanke was apologizing. Someone was calling for help. But Casey ignored them; they were irrelevant.

"Doesn't feel so bad," Billy mused, just slightly breathless from his new position on the floor.

Casey fingered the rip in the pants, pulling away slightly to see the torn flesh and the blade. There was blood, but not a lot, which was the good news.

The bad news was that the blade was deep. "It's almost buried to the hilt," Casey reported grimly.

"But no bleeding?" Michael asked.

"It must be holding in the circulation," he said.

"So we don't take it out, then," Michael concluded.

"Definitely not," Casey agreed.

Billy made a face. "Do I get a vote?"

"No," Casey and Michael said together.

Billy's face drew into a pout. "But it's my leg," he said.

"And my party," Casey reminded him. "And I would rather not have you die because you thought throwing a birthday party was a good idea."

"Ah, well," Billy mused, shifting. Pain crossed his features and he closed his eyes, body still taut. "For what it's worth I'd do it again." He opened his eyes wearily. "Sans knife throwing."

"You're incorrigible," Casey said.

Billy looked wounded. Literally and figuratively. "At least I'm not so tied up in the appearance of being strong that I refuse to admit that I like birthdays," he said, a little sharply. He shuddered, face screwing up with obvious pain. "So between you and me, I think you're the incorrigible one."

"You're both incorrigible," Michael said shortly. "Now don't move."

Billy grinned. "Or what, you'll stab me?"

"Or you'll start bleeding," Casey said with a glare.

Billy's eyes started drooping, face going white. "May be too late for that," he whispered.

Casey was confused.

Then he looked down.

There was blood everywhere now, staining Billy's pant leg and starting to pool on the floor. It was harder to see the wound, but the knife had slipped just enough and the blood was gushing in earnest.

Frantic, Casey reached down, undoing his belt. He moved swiftly, hands shaking as he finagled the belt under Billy's leg and pulled it tight.

Michael was leaned over Billy, hand on his cheek. "Hey," he called. "Billy."

Billy's chest heaved, eyes blinking lazily.

Casey positioned himself carefully, keeping his leverage while moving to Billy's line of sight. "Stay awake, Collins," he said.

Billy's blue eyes were clouded as they met Casey's. "Is that an order?"

"Consider it my birthday wish," Casey replied.

"But now it won't come true," Billy said, voice airy as his eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back before his body went limp.

"Billy," Michael said, tapping Billy's cheek. "Billy."

There was no response.

There was nothing.

It was his party and Billy had given him everything he wanted (but couldn't admit) and he had to hope (had to believe) Billy would give him the thing that mattered most and stay alive.

-o-

Billy was lifeless when the paramedics arrived. When Casey tried to explain what happened, they looked at him like he was crazy.

"You know what, never mind," Casey snapped. "It's classified. Any more questions and you'll have to die or be permanently relocated, and which option we go with will not be entirely your choice."

They kept on the tourniquet, starting an IV as they transferred Billy quickly to the ER. From there, Casey was told politely to stay in the waiting room, they'd be out to update him as soon as possible.

And to think, he'd been dreading a birthday party.

Sitting in a chair in the waiting room, the party looked pretty damn good now.

-o-

Billy was okay.

That was the important thing, and Casey kept that fact at the forefront of his consciousness as he dealt with the rest. Because the rest was daunting.

The blade had cut deep but just narrowly missed the bone. It had nearly severed the femoral, which was what had caused Billy to bleed out so quickly. Much more loss of volume and Billy's heart would have stopped and Casey wouldn't be sitting in a hospital but a morgue.

But they'd transfused Billy and stitched him up and he was going to be okay.

Casey was not one for sentimentality or what ifs. Second guessing was a weakness he did not indulge.

Not even alone in Billy's hospital room on his birthday.

Michael had been there until Billy had been stabilized. Then, he'd left Casey alone, citing paperwork to explain the incident to Higgins without getting any of them fired. There was some truth to that, Casey was sure, but he also knew that this first crack at privacy with Billy was Michael's birthday present.

Still, it was hard to be happy about anything standing next to Billy's hospital bed. He had been conscious for a bit, but groggy, and after a heavy dose of sedatives, the doctor said Billy would probably sleep until the next day.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Billy in the hospital. It wasn't even the worst injury Billy had endured. But somehow, this was the hardest yet for Casey.

True, Casey hadn't thrown the knife – it had been an accident. But Casey had grumbled and groused and groaned while Billy had done everything for Casey. More than that, he knew Casey liked it and never made him admit it. Never made him do anything. Just offered it and never looked twice when Casey pretended to give in and humor him.

The fact was, Casey didn't want parties. He didn't need cake or small talk or conversation or anything. He just needed his team, and he didn't like admitting that, but it was more important than ever since Simms had disappeared. Celebrating life had always seemed superfluous before because he had never had much life worth celebrating.

Now, with Billy and Michael, with the ODS, life meant something. Not just in the missions and the training; in each other. As friends. As family.

The thought of losing that…

It was almost more than Casey could handle.

He couldn't help it. He sniffled.

On the bed, Billy didn't move. He was still pale, face somewhat ashen among the machines. But his chest rose and fell evenly and his expression was relaxed in sleep.

"You don't get to say anything," Casey said, wiping his nose discreetly. "It's my party and yes, I'll cry if I want to, damn it."

-o-

When Casey woke up, it wasn't his birthday anymore. This didn't seem like an overly important observation except that he got the thing he wanted most when Billy woke up.

The Scot was tired and sore, a little confused and a lot sheepish.

"I can't believe I went and let myself get stabbed!" Billy exclaimed.

Casey smirked. "I talked to Michael," he said. "Who told me to inform you that if Higgins asks, this was nothing more than a cake cutting incident gone awry."

Billy lifted his eyebrows. "That seems like a creative use of understatement."

"It's our best bet to not get fired," he said. "Though, I still do need to find Blanke and make him suffer for this."

Billy waved a hand in the air. "We all were taken away by the festive atmosphere," he said. "Accidents happen with such jubilee. Besides, the poor man keeps sending flowers. We have to absolve him before we deplete the supply on the eastern seaboard."

Casey shifted, only marginally mollified as he glanced at the plethora of flowers in the room. The other operative had wanted to come visit, to apologize, but Casey had refused. It was easy to play his discomfort to anger, and Blanke was a convenient target.

Billy took a breath and hesitated. "I'm sorry for this," he said. "I wanted to give you a good birthday but instead you spent the bloody thing in the hospital."

Casey thought to sigh, in true melodramatic fashion. But, he couldn't. Instead, he tilted his head cautiously. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "And you didn't die. Considering the amount of blood you lost, I think that's a gift that I won't return any time soon."

Billy's face brightened. "You're going soft in your old age!"

"I'm not," Casey snapped contrarily. "I just prefer my birthday to be somewhat less bloody."

"But not entirely devoid of it," Billy concluded.

"Let's just say we can avoid this part next year," Casey said.

"Is that tacit consent for a party next year?" Billy asked eagerly.

Casey's eyes narrowed. "If you're asking, then no," he said. He quirked one eyebrow suggestively. "But I'm sure you can find some way around that."

Billy nodded, lifting his hand for a small salute. "Aye," he said. "That I can. I'll have to start planning soon, though, if I'm going to top this."

"I don't want to know," Casey growled.

"Of course not," Billy said with mock seriousness.

Casey shook his head. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're old," Billy replied.

Casey sighed, getting to his feet. "I'm leaving."

"Aw, don't take it so poorly!" Billy said.

"I'm still leaving," Casey said, moving to the door.

"Well, fine," Billy said. "But one thing—"

Casey stopped at the door, looking back.

Billy grinned. "Happy birthday."

Casey shook his head. "I will say this once and only because you nearly bled to death yesterday," he said. "Thank you."

Billy's grin widened, splitting his face.

"And if you tell anyone I said that, I will kill you," Casey said turning and heading back out the door without staying to see the light dance in Billy's eyes.

He knew it was there, though. Just like he knew Billy would be okay.

All in all, that wasn't such a bad birthday gift.

And maybe – just _maybe _– Casey was looking forward to next year after all.


End file.
